


i always try to be enough

by mantisbelle



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Character Study, Established Relationship, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:47:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27083620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mantisbelle/pseuds/mantisbelle
Summary: “I hate that I can never give you enough.” He says into the stale air of their room. “I’ll never be able to do it, you know. They cut that out of me before I ever got a chance to know what love is. All I feel like I know is what it isn’t.”She stares at him, light in her violet eyes. “I was shaped the same way that you were. Maybe without potions or mutagens, but it came at the edge of the knife. Same as it did for you.” There's a long moment of quiet. “I don’t think I know what it feels like either.”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 16
Kudos: 57





	i always try to be enough

“I hate that I can never give you enough.” He says into the stale air of their room. “I’ll never be able to do it, you know. They cut that out of me before I ever got a chance to know what love is. All I feel like I know is what it  _ isn’t.” _

What it isn’t is easy to fill in for him. It’s the lash of the whip in punishment, it’s raising boys knowing that most of them are going to die anyways. It’s casting a son off to get water and leaving him without so much as a word or an apology. Those things are not love. Neither is the feeling of huddling with another between tattered old furs because it’s the only way to keep warm against the chill of a stone keep in winter. 

Maybe it’s a love of a sort. Not the kind that he means, not the kind that he  _ wants _ to give her. 

He stays quiet, laying there just like that for a long time. Maybe a little too long. “I can’t love you like you deserve, and what I’ve been able to give you just… isn’t the same.” 

He doesn’t know what she deserves. He’s never been able to dream of any life outside of the one that he’s known. No cottages or windmills or idyll pastures for him. There's no fishing for pleasure, there's no permanent roof over his head. What he has is the path, and that is all he has ever had and all he ever will have. 

“It’s artificial.” He says it because it’s the truth. What they had, what passed for love was an ugly malformed thing. Always pale by comparison to the real thing, whatever  _ the real thing _ was. 

But that’s always been him, paled by comparison. 

Yennefer deserves real things. She deserves moons and skies and suns to belong to her. She deserves to have the stars hung in the shape of her name, the moon carved into perfect crescents to match her eyes or her lips.

He’s not real, not the way that she deserves. 

She stares at him, light in her violet eyes. “I was shaped the same way that you were. Maybe without potions or mutagens, but it came at the edge of the knife. Same as it did for you.” There's a long moment of quiet. “I don’t think I know what it feels like either.” 

“What?” Geralt asks, surprised. 

She blinks, lovely black lashes hiding those eyes from him for just a moment. “You think I knew what love was like before either?” Yennefer asks him. “Ripped from a terrible existence, thrown to the wolves at Aretuza. The first person that ever showed me kindness was Istredd, and I fell for him because of it. All for him to have been playing games with me the entire time.” 

And for just a moment Geralt  _ understands. _

“Vesemir raised me.” He says. “I mean, he raised every wolf one way or another. But he was the one that played a father to me, to Eskel. Lambert later. Now that we’re all each other has left it’s… hard to look back on how things were before. It’s like he’s had to take a different shape in my head. I don’t hate him like Lambert does, but I understand it.” He lets out a too-slow breath for even him. “Just because he's closer now doesn’t undo the beatings or the training or the trials. Eskel’s forgiven him easier but Eskel is…” His voice trails off. “He’s not like me.” 

“Let me guess.” Yennefer teases. “Easy, kind, handsome, able to keep himself out of trouble?” 

“He forgives easily.” Geralt mumbles. “Easier than I do. But I think he chooses not to look for love. He claims he just likes how succubi have horns, but that's not it. He likes that there's no expectation for a commitment. He can move on as easy as the wind if he wants to.” 

There's a long beat, a lull in conversation as Geralt looks for the words that he needs. “He’d never ask a djinn to tie him to someone that he’s never going to be able to love. He knows what he is and that's… it.” 

Yenn closes her eyes, relaxing into their shared bed. “I’m sure you’d find it’s more complicated than that if you asked.” She says. “You’ve always liked complicated people, but I don’t know that you’ve ever really understood any of them.” 

“I understand you.”

“Sometimes.” Yennefer teases him. “Is this enough for you?”

“I don’t know.” He admits. “Is it enough for you?”

“I don’t know.” Yennefer replies, after a harsh swallow. “Nothing’s ever enough for me. It’s part of my charm.” 

It  _ is _ part of her charm. She gives him something to strive for, even if it’s nothing he can ever give her for real. He’s never going to be able to give her a baby, but a child surprise can be a consolation of sorts. They both love Ciri, even though she's not theirs by blood or birth. That he’ll never be able to father a child himself doesn’t matter to him. By his view it’s one of the few kindnesses being a Witcher ever did for him. It's no life for a child. Even the process of becoming a witcher is no life for a child. 

It’s why so many of them died before they could even open viper’s eyes. He’s  _ glad _ Ciri will never be able to go through that herself. She deserves better than Geralt’s gotten, or than what Yennefer has gotten. She doesn’t deserve to be someone else’s tool, crafted to fight other people’s battles. 

Ciri deserves universes.

Geralt loves her.  _ This _ love he is sure of. 

He looks Yennefer directly in the eyes. “You make me want to be better.” 

“So be that.” She says. “And even if I wonder whether you only like me for my perfume, or because I have artificial otherworldy beauty, or because a djinn has tied us together, I’ll know you’re still here for me.” Yennefer reaches up to his hair, brushing his white locks away from his face. “And I’ll try to be here for you, to ease your pains and patch your wounds when you need me. I’ll help you fight your battles any time that you ask. I know you don’t ask unless they’re battles that are really work fighting.” 

Geralt swallows. “I like being your sure thing. Even if it’s not real.” 

Yennefer shrugs. “I don’t know that either of us are a sure thing for the other. It seems awfully reductive, to talk about it in that way. But I can’t say that I mind. There is an odd comfort in it, knowing that no matter what I’ll always have you.” 

“Even when it’s difficult?”

“When isn’t it difficult, Geralt?” Yennefer asks him, moving on from stroking the hair on his head to the hair on his chest. “I don’t think that you and I know how to be anything other than difficult. I  _ like _ that it’s a challenge.” 

“I know you do.” Geralt leans in close, wanting to search for a kiss from her lips, but not bridging the gap between them. “Keeps thing interesting, if nothing else.” 

“I like interesting.” Yennefer is the one to close the distance. She leans in against him, bracing herself up over him with careful arms. She lies against him, skin against skin and it’s the most pleasant thing that Geralt has felt in a while. The sex is good. It’s always good, but it’s nothing compared to this, to the quiet intimacy that’s more than he’s ever been able to hope for. 

Under her touch, he melts and it’s the most pleasant thing that he’s ever going to get to feel. She knows it too, based on the way that she lets herself linger. 

“My Witcher.” She whispers into the hollow of his throat. “You will always intrigue me.” 

Geralt lays a hand against the small of her back, lets his fingers stretch out so that he can feel as much of her skin as possible. “I’m not going anywhere soon.” 

“Even if it’s not real?” A question, punctuated with a kiss. 

“Even if it’s not real.” He echoes her, giving the greatest affirmation that he’s ever been possible of giving. 

This is enough. It's not a lot. It’s artificial and unreal, but it’s enough and it’s  _ good.  _

It’s enough. She’s enough. He can try to be enough, and it can be as simple as that.

**Author's Note:**

> Never written anything for The Witcher before. Hope you liked it. 
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr](https://arynasea.tumblr.com)   
>  [Find me on Twitter](https://twitter.com/hymen_opus)   
> 


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